


A Solstice Of Abundance: Opus Canis, Opus Dei

by Varynova



Series: The Solstice Cycle [3]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Anal Sex, Earth C (Homestuck), Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Explicitly Not Mind Control, F/F, Not Epilogue Compliant, Ongoing story, Post canon, Sexy Consensual Begging, Troll Genitalia (Homestuck), cw: brief description of imagined eroticized violence, wholesome fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-22
Updated: 2019-08-22
Packaged: 2020-09-06 06:55:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20287273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Varynova/pseuds/Varynova
Summary: Jade Harley has put in the work, and now she gets to appreciate the products of her endeavor.  She's grown as a person, she's gained a friend, and she's ready to make her mark on the world again.Or, at least, for the world to leave some marks on her, in the form of Vriska Serket.This is an extra scene taking place in chapter 11 ofA Solstice of Abundance: Green Thumb, Blue Dice.





	A Solstice Of Abundance: Opus Canis, Opus Dei

**Author's Note:**

> “We're more of the love, blood, and rhetoric school. Well, we can do you blood and love without the rhetoric, and we can do you blood and rhetoric without the love, and we can do you all three concurrent or consecutive. But we can't give you love and rhetoric without the blood. Blood is compulsory. They're all blood, you see.”
> 
> ― Tom Stoppard, _Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead_

VRISKA: Soooooooo I'm coming over. I need some goddamned 8reakfast, 8ut if you needed a 8ite I'm sure I could arrange something for the 8oth of us ::::)  
JADE: a bite you say? when you say it that way it sounds like something else ;D  
VRISKA: :::;)  
JADE: yeah if you wanna make food here come on over!!

* * *

Your name is Jade Harley, you're laying on your downstairs couch, and, maybe, you have just said something supremely stupid. Vriska Serket, your girlfriend--  
your FREAKIN' GIRLFRIEND! Even two weeks into this thunderstruck flashflood brushfire romance, whenever you remember that this thing is _actually happening_ you have to steady your footing so your tailwags don't knock you over--  
has her hips planted atop yours, hands knit together just above your stomach and beneath her bared breasts. She lords over you like her arachnid namesake, and the image of it sends your insides into loop-de-loops.

You were just gearing up for a post-breakfast snog, and as Vriska playfully pinned a wrist to the sofa underneath you, the first flowery images sprung forth. You could just about see her start to strip your skirt down and unfurl her jeans and just...

Alright, that thought wasn't exactly sudden, or unwelcome. Truth be told, you haven't been able to _stop_ thinking about what it would be like to wake her up one morning by filling her up with smooches, then disappearing under the covers before she knew what hit her and getting _her_ seeing stars for once. Better wakeup than coffee.

You haven't brought it up, but only because your last serious date ended in you crying in the frigid limbs of the circumstellar disc. It was very cathartic! It just wasn't exactly conducive to discussing spooning preferences or favorite positions.

But she bends her back upward, eyes rolling. "A word of unsolicited advice?"

You gaze at her, head tilting. Hm? Weren't you sharing a moment there? Your ears flop to one side.

"Don't talk about your exes while we're kissing on your couch."

_Oof._ Was that what you...? You drop from your elbows, bra-clad torso falling flat. Well, there goes that spontaneous rush; Vriska's admonition cools the slow flame that had flowed up from your biceps into your clavicle and set your tail wagging.

She's right, of course. Mentioning you've slept with her other girlfriend, apropos of exactly nothing, probably doesn't set your desired mood during sloppy troll-doghuman makeouts. Wayyyy to ruin it, Harley.

Your embarrassment blooms across your cheeks as your neck shrinks. "Oh, I wasn't thinking about that!! Heh, sorry!"

She scoots an inch, pressing your crotches into contact, and smirks. A gentle, chiding arm bumps you in the ribs. "Don't worry about it. I'm glad to know, I am!"

Well, at least she's not mad. You hope that means more smooches are on the table. Should probably try to quell that dour, apologetic look, though; you give a momentary shake of your cheeks and nose, and blink a few earnest, wide blinks.

Vriska's hips roll against yours, and clarify immediately that she intends to toy with the dueling moods in your gullet. You called her an adorable hedgehog-- quills outward, soft tummy underneath-- last week, and she didn't disagree. Once again, she proves you right.

Her thighs are so narrow that the first time you sloped across her body to cuddle yourselves asleep you had nowhere to plant your doggy nose but right in the vanishing curves joining both of her legs, and you wondered at the time if she would be mad at you for it. But she certainly didn't complain then, or ever since; she even said that she liked to sleep sitting up, a woman accustomed to her recuperacoon's warmth. Fine by you; you enjoy closeness any way you can get it.

The uncomfortable squeeze in your ribcage starts to abate, and warmth rolls over you again, starting from where her legs rest against yours. You arch a knee, rubbing the sheer fabric of your skirt against her blue jeans. "She hadn't mentioned it," Vriska continues offhanded, "probably because it wasn't relevant, and most of our time's been spent..." She puts her wrists together, and rubs them back and forth in time with a suggestive noise from her mouth like a latex balloon being stroked.

You smush your nose, distinct nails-on-chalkboard tingle rippling down the back of your neck, mixing with the ribald suggestion that two trolls bonking bone bulges could sound more like a rubber-fetish elephant on a slip 'n' slide than...  
Alright, you have no idea what noise you'd use to symbolize sex. Usually you just say the word and people seem fine with it, though you can't fault Vriska's choice for its evocativeness. Trying to pull her into another close hug, you put a hand on her back, feeling her shoulderblade like an obsidian knife against the curve of your fingers.

But your girlfriend cranes down, kissing you on the nose. It's the sort of tiny gesture that still sends shivers down your spine, might drive you to bowl her over and deliver a hundred kiss-licks to every inch of her smug gray face.

Somehow, you fight the impulse, instead rolling your shoulders. "I'm glad to hear your relationship's going well, then," you say, stifling a giggle. "I'm happy to drop it."

"A wise decision." Vriska's forearms bend around you to encompass your neck, and she coos. It's a surprisingly tender sound from her, and you reach your lips out, about to kiss her again. She's so close that her every breath bathes you in heat. You lift your chin to close the distance, resume cuddling.

Instead of reciprocating, she evades your mouth, and you feel the wet stroke of her tongue lash up the side of your neck, collarbone to chin. You whine-sigh with your mouth hanging open. Unexpected, yes-- her delightful, fey spontaneity at work-- but it lights your whole front aflame again. The knot in your stomach spreads to every part of you she's holding down, tenses each muscle from your nethers to your neck.

She witnesses your body curl inward, just slightly, and laughs. "What is it, puppy? Don't like that?"

Is that scolding? Did she just... _scold_ you?

If she was going for humiliation, maybe it worked-- her tone makes your cheeks flush beet-red, sends your heart suddenly pounding in your chest and ears. _Maybe_, something whispers from the back of your mind, it worked because you let it, because you want it to? Yes-- it was _exactly_ what you wanted. The sides of your tongue run themselves against your molars... how much do you need her to _do it again_? And to mean every harsh word?  
But... how do you even ask for that? Well, with your body, of course.

You try to cross your legs a bit, to mask the mound in your skirt brought on by her many forms of affection, but her leg impetuously blocks you. She's actually gently pressing it against you now, and you don't need to wonder exactly how deliberate her positioning is, exactly how much of you she can feel as she runs herself up between your thighs. You resist humping her leg in response, because you have _some_ dignity, goddammit. Instead, somehow, you mug your best petulant glare. "Nnnno. It's just wet!"

The mischievous marquise repeats the tonguestroke on the other side, hot saliva already cooling by the time her impish grin comes into view. Her hands brace your shoulders, keep your bodies wrapped together. "Better for symmetry?"

_Oh, god, it really is._ You loll your head back, ears rubbing against the arm of the couch. You almost say it, let her know that you're drinking in every instant of contact with the shapely gray ridges of her unraveled tongue. She's leaned much more on affectionate teasing, lately, after you made it clear that the serious kind got you down and hurt your feelings. You're very glad she's practicing.

You laugh, and your hands land on her bare sides. Her response is three quick kisses, each lingering at the lips; it sets your stomach aflutter, and somehow you contain the shivers and quakes that threaten to wrack both of your arms, turn you into a panting puddle. "I didn't say I mind it being wet..."

Her stomach rolls forward, urging your palms to curve and cup her whole midsection. You slide them around her midriff, greedily deepening your contact with her skin. "That's gooooooood," she chides, letting the vowel trail as she lowers again, this time bringing her lips closed around the dead center of your neck.

"Aah!" A ragged gasp escapes your throat, and the weight of her chest suddenly renders you a stunned gazelle with an unhideable grin. Her innumerable troll teeth drag inward, each tiny trail a separate pinprick sensation against your prone and supple flesh. You barely manage to restrain a low groan.

Vriska's hand crawls down your bra strap, palm finding soft purchase against the front of the thin right cup. You wrap your own around it, desperately seeking a grounding impulse, and the tips of her claws run rough points into the whole globe as she massages in quick, small circles right at your nipple. It sparks the whole switchboard of your nerves, skin registering every featherstroke of clothing-teeth-trollbody-hair-fur-hot breath-digits-loveseat against it. Your eyes roll back, your back arcs, your chest heaves, and your mind goes blissfully quiet.

With effort you purse your lips and force a sharp breath in through your nose. But the darting teeth tickle just a little bit too much, and you can't stop your hands from surging upwards as you burst into a paroxysm of laughter.

Vriska rolls her body off of you, landing on the couch as you sit upright, your legs still around her. You must have tossed them around her waist, wrapped her up in your skirt amidst the blasting intensity of raking teeth and flicking tongue. In fact, your unconscious thrashing has bunched your disheveled garment about your knees, uncovering your calves. Your nose wrinkles with the barest blush, embarrassment showing for tapping out.

But she's glowing likewise, nostrils flaring with excited breaths. An arm reaches out to steady herself on your knee. She smiles a devious smile, like a trickster gratified with her desired reaction, an unmistakably sexy visage that shrinks you to the size of a thumbtack and fills you with erotic dread all at once. "No shame in askin' me to stop now, Harley. I've already got your 'human goat'."

She's right; you're just barely able to catch your breath, still heaving open-mouthed with a balled fist clutched to your sternum.

As though you could ever want to stop, instead of submitting yourself to inglorious _hours_ of the same torment. You can scarcely contain your thrill at her aggression, as though she'd read your mind-- and overlooked all the parts that were sure this wasn't on the table this morning. You must look wild, in this moment; hair tousled everywhere, fresh neckdragged teethmarks, still tongue-panting with flowing charge.

You place your hands at her hips, eyes lapping up her bent-legged form-- she's curved them unconsciously to the floor, crossed just at the gray ankles, like a livewire supervillain in horn-rimmed glasses and low-waisted denim. Her top teeth have found the outside of her cobalt lips, unconsciously reenacting the interrupted scrape and crawl. The bend of her iliac crest-- or whatever troll hipbones are called-- pokes out from the top of her jeans, like a little handle you could just hoist her over your head with, to haul her back to your cave and ravage at your leisure. Even if, this morning, you're still angling to be the one on the receiving end of this specific ravishing.

She tosses her hair, raveled around her front from the sudden dismount, clearly showing off for you. Her crossed arms meet just where the navel would be, in a primate, and leave not an inch of her gorgeous teardrop breasts (perfectly rounded, nippleless, unending) out of view. Then she turns to face you, uncrosses her arms, with her eyes narrowed in wait. Geez, Jade!! You were so caught up in objectifying her that you didn't realize she needed an answer to her question. Or that it was a question in the first place. But the vanishing lines to her waist-- not shaped like an hourglass so much as a cliff-face, an oblique crag you could never hope to surmount-- tease your eyes downward, so you make the effort to gaze into her eyes, yellow and patient, even as you relish the capacity for lavish cruelty lying right behind them.

"To the contrary," you say. The last of the electric buzz fades from your fingertips, finally exorcised from both limbs, and you plant your feet on the floor, ground yourself against prevailing winds and thundershocks of nerve alike. You lift a finger to her gray-skinned chest, just above the breast, and draw a looping circle with your blunted nail against it. You know what you want, and, well, there's only one way to get it, so...

"I would like you, Vriska," you start, trying unsuccessfully to quell the quaver of scratchy need in your voice, "to try that again. In a place where I can spread out, so I don't kick you out of it." You take a deep breath. "Then, maybe, I would like more, if you should also desire it."

Vriska's expression morphs from rakish to bemused. "Is the lady asking me to adjourn to her boudoir?" She makes for a mock-scandalized touch at her lips. Your scalp burns with the white-hot torment of having to ask again, and it drives you _wild_. Somehow, even as she inflects her voice with care and attention, she doesn't lose the teasing air underneath, charming, cutting.

"Certainly she is, and mayhaps to be helped out of her bra in the meantime."

You don't even track the movement of her hand, but one of them has it unhooked before you can even finish the request. Very impressive, even by your own high standards. (Not that you have standards at the moment, still barely able to stand for the soft, dogged quiver in your legs.)  
You free your body from the bra's confines, and stretch your arms up, rising, saluting the sun.

* * *

You fucking love trolls. Well, you love fucking trolls, because Jade Harley likes to play hard, and unlike with humans you needn't be as concerned with breaking their smooth, rippling carapace-skin, or with kissing up their collarbones and necks. But Vriska will be your first god-tier lay, someone whose strength-- you hope, silently, desperately-- matches your own in sheer pounds-per-square-inch of force.

Not holding back for fear of hurting someone... The thought intrigues you. But perhaps there's another layer to it, that terrifying strength which she could bring to bear on...

While your moods tend to swing wildly from one to the other, Vriska's attitude has you in a _very_ certain way. You were practically breathless before, right as you were jarred out of that precious and rare feeling of trusting submission, and now that you've had a moment to collect yourself coming upstairs, you find your thoughts drifting again, thirsting for her very specific sort of attention, chiding and glib.

You roll your body prone in the bed as she rounds the corner into the room, legs crossing with each step. Her lips are pursed again, chin high as she surveys you splayed out, a haughty painter examining a (nearly) blank canvas.

Even as you continue to learn Vriska Serket's expressions, you know when she's planning something. It sends an anticipatory chill up your backbone.

Up close, what captivates you most about Vriska is her eyebrows. Every other facet of her face-- squarish smile, angular nose, diamond-edge cheekbones-- is sharp, practically hostile. You think that if she were any sharper she'd reflect light. Even her horns are pointed, opposed tailbarb and scorpionclaw forms pushing back against your desires for balance, symmetry, round softness. (You swear, and have dreamt since the beginning, that you'll use them as handles one day, but you try to shelve the thought for now.)

But her furry little caterpillar eyebrows, usually enmeshed in her long, swept bangs, always seem to you to crimp and dance with each lipcurl and devilish grin. The contrast-- expressive, stony; soft, bladed; formless, crisp-- intrigues you. You'd pet them, if you could. Or lick them, if she'd let you.

She plants her knees, one falling on your skirt between your legs, the other to the side. With immediate glee you spread your arms, opening yourself to the close-held, easy touch you worried you'd sacrificed upon drifting upstairs. She freefalls towards you, catching herself on palms that flank your face, now inches away from hers.

But instead of wincing, you laugh, unfazed by a gesture surely intended to shock you through proximity. It won't do her much good to try to scare you with the thing you long for the most. You gaze into her onyx-black pupils, which betray the blazing hunger just behind her sharktoothed smirk. That, and the continued blue hue highlighting her eyes, stark against the shadow of her glasses. She acts the part well, but she can't hide her need.

"Well?," you ask. You rewet your lips, and scrape your tongue with your front teeth.

Her grip is surprisingly firm, for such a wiry body. Thin forearms brace your own, despite your more muscular form, but with your first playful tugs against them Vriska pushes back, holds you in place. Despite its similarity to your predicament on the couch, the restraint still makes your heart pound. Vriska gazes at you. "Is this gonna be alright? I'd hate to break you."

You squeeze your eyes shut, willing your lungs to fill with dry, heady air. You thank your stars she's grappling you again after your little lull, and helping chase out the silly, unfocused thoughts. "You won't be able to. In fact, if you tried, I bet that'd only get me more into it." Your head tilts, and you grin a skeptical grin.

"Is that a challenge? I've done meaner."

"You won't. I'll let you know if I don't like something, promise; trust me."

"You say that, buuut--" She sits back, weight shifting onto your hips from her arms. Her hands withdraw, gathering to rub your sides.

"Vriska..." You flit your eyes open again, cocking an ear. Your arms cross at your stomach. You are a woman of many needs, and constant reassurance isn't one.

"Mm?"

A snort escapes your nose. Despite yourself, your arousal is quickly draining, and while you respect that Vriska is _absolutely_ doing the right thing, making all the right overtures... you are _quite_ finished being handled so softly. You need _this_, and you need her to sweep you _up_, take you _away._  
"I appreciate what you're doing? But I wouldn't ask if this wasn't what I want, okay? Please. This is for me." Vriska looks amused, but you can't tell just how much of that tight-lipped smile is foreclosed disappointment at your requested activities, so you offer a half-joke in recompense. "Or if you'd like, I can take over, but I'd probably go about it without the banter. S'your choice."

"No," Vriska says, mouth curving coquettishly. "No, I think I'm also quite a bit in the mood for this, but I'd like you to tell me _exactly_ what you're looking for, _precisely_ how far I can push you." You can't help but smile in response, probably a little crookedly. Fine, maybe you were rushing it a bit, and who knows? Maybe the conversations will help get you back in the mood...

"Fine. Okay. Uhhh... well, the biting was nice, and if you do it in such a way that I--"

"Hmmmmmmmm, " Vriska interrupts, neck craning down towards you with her eyebrows raised. "I guess that wasn't quite what I'm looking for. Lets try this! Repeat after me; 'Vriska, here's what I want:' "

"Vriska," you recite, unsure of where she's leading you. "Here's what I want?"

"Hugging?"

"Hugging." You shrug. Always, yes.

"Kissing?" She tilts her head.

"Definitely kissing." More easy answers.

She leans down, plants one on your lips, and you hum with pleasure against her mouth. "Yesss. And biting?" Her teeth flash as she sits back up.

"Of course, biting." You feel your smile widen, glad to be getting to the real meat of it. You would very much so like more biting.

"Ooh, good. I was looking forward to _that_. Groping?" Her hand folds closed in midair, a slow ripple of fingers miming her proposal.

Your eyes light up at the suggestion, following the motion of her fingertips. What little she did this morning has you teething your lips for more, so you nod. "Groping should happen."

"Top or bottom?" She raises her eyebrows provocatively, eyes falling to your skirt.

Hm? Oh. _Ohhhhhh._ Oh, yes. You feel your face go red. You nod again, more vigorously, as she reminds you of her gentle touches to your face, your chest, your hips, but applied elsewhere... "Both."

"Humping?" She sounds almost teasing.

Just the word paints a picture in your mind, the breathless image of your skirted pelvis running up and down Vriska’s leg as you moan with animal pleasure. The look her face would have, gratified with your sudden inability to dam back your needs... the air from your lungs goes suddenly hot, slow exhalations exalting the very question. "Yeah, definitely."

You blink, nose wriggling. She reaches a hand out to the bridge of your glasses, and you nose them forward; she sets them aside.

"Y'gotta say it. S'the only way I'll know." Jegus, that grin.

"Humping, I want humping," you say, laughsnorting with embarrassment as you do. _Fuuuck,_ she's getting off on this, isn't she. Well, isn't that the point? And it'd be a lie to say you're _not_, anyway...

The tone of Vriska's voice switches back to that insistent mode, evenly-paced and low, as she dictates more terms for your agreement. " 'Vriska Serket, I want to feel your breath against my tits...' " She bares her teeth as she says it, practically hissing out every sibilation.

"Ooh, such flowery language! I like it." You'd be lying if you said that it didn't help slip you back into that headspace, letting you take in every word she spoke, watching them soak in the unjudging waters of your imagination. No, not just the words-- her tone, the look in her eyes, the little ways she rumples her forehead and touches your arm... it feels so safe, like she's there to tether you to the ground, help float you along the top of that feeling, that space, but not let you slip in, delve too deep.

She rolls her eyes. "No, you gotta repeat it back. If it's to your liking."

"O-oh. Uh, Vriska Serket, I want to feel your breath against my..." your voice wanes, and you wiggle your jaw. Hm. This isn't the part you expected to be hard; you love yelling about your tits, but this time...

No. You have to follow along. She's here to buoy you, so let yourself go, let that part of your mind bob along the surface of the inky, wordless void, seeing and feeling and breathing along with her.

" 'Tits,' c'mon," she chides. Her voice is starting to deepen, her words growing thick and inviting.

God, she keeps pushing you, but ever so slightly each step starts to crowd out the noise... the comfortable, horny static slowly overtakes the worrying voice, and you find the word to repeat. "My tits."

She pads her hands toward you again, head hanging above yours. " 'For my bosom to heave with each clasping claw and your suckling lips against their peaks to leave me gasssssping.' " Vriska's gray collarbones rise and fall with each breath in silent anticipation. You open your mouth, letting your breathing slow in time with hers.

She wants you to say, uh. What? "For my bosom to heave with each grasping claw... and the next part, too?"

She draws her spectacles from her face. Her eyes are focused intently on your own, her eyelids heavy, edges dark. She blinks a couple slow, pointed blinks, and folds in the glasses' arms. She throws them vaguely in the direction of the side table, sideeyes you expectantly. "Only if y'want it..."

Your neck shrinks away, and you feel the comfortable sensation of heat set in across your nose with her laserlike gaze. You cover your mouth with both hands, fingers splayed almost over your eyes. Fuuuck, you _do_ want it. "Alright, I... really want you to suck on my nipples." You stare at the ceiling, whole face burning.

Her voice lilts, softer now. "Ooh. Fiiiine, that's fiiiine." She darts her tongue along her top teeth again. Vriska's hair cascades down both sides of her head, wild tangles dropping to the bed all about your face, intermingling with your own spread under your back. She cranes her neck down, pressing her body to yours, and you wrap your arms around her.

Her heartbeat reverberates in your ribcage, each _th-thump_ as clearly audible through your body as your own, and you take a deep, dry gulp. You are an elemental being of pure anticipation, floating as if on a black lake of only sensation and feeling. But held steady by her grip, her careful attention, the trust you share.

Vriska speaks crisply, in that same cadenced, demanding tone. " 'Vriska, I want you to _fuck_ me.' " Her lips meet yours, tongue parting them and trailing against your hard palate. The kiss nourishes you, drives current back through your jaw and up the back of your skull like a halo. You still just can't believe...  
You bend your free leg up, running it along Vriska's side.

"Vriska, I want you to FUCK me." Your eyes are locked to hers, entranced, intoxicated. _Fuck_.

" 'I need you inside of me.' " Her eyes narrow, daring you.

_Auuuughhh_\-- you've almost quieted the part of your mind telling you you wouldn't _dare_, so you take a languid blink and try to wrap your tongue around the words. "I do. Desperately." You mumble to yourself, unable to keep it in, but sure she can hear you just the same. "I can't believe I'm doing this. I can't believe you've got me do-- you fucking sexyass troll, Serket, _fuck_." Nnnot exactly eloquent, but it's what you can manage. You roll your head from side to side, roiling in the heat at both your cheeks.

You didn't know it was possible to feel your whole body blush, for that brushfire sensation to engulf your whole form painlessly and wrap you in luminescence. You're discovering a few new things about yourself this foggy morning.

Her tongue presses into your mouth again, and you mingle yours with it; shift back into hers, taste each shared breath, each moment, heartbeat. She pulls up from the kiss, gives you a look. Heartbeat. A-again, huh? You can't-- you heave a deep breath.

Okay.

"I-- I need you inside of me." Your fingernails drag across the skin of her back.

Vriska licks her lips. "Gooooooood." Her nose runs along yours, pressing into the crest just alongside it; she murmurs something warm and gentle against your lips as you kiss. Even in this state, labile, freeflowing, mind like molten mercury, you can't fathom a more smug, pleased shape her face could take. Fuck. Ing. Spi. Der. Troll...

She rustles her leg against yours, sliding it snug to your privates once more. You hum as she nudges them, contact reestablished, and you can feel what little blood remains there flow from your brain and extremities down into your--

She lifts her head, teeth bared and gleaming. Her mouth closes around your jugular as promised, and it shatters the thought. A squeaking whine utters from your lips. Each pulse of your carotid-- quickening, now-- pairs your taut skin against the tips of her canines, and you pant increasingly shallow breaths. She coils the palms of both hands into your twin breasts, slow massages pressing at both, lifting and admiring their forms. The brisk attention makes your tongue loll, crashes into your mind with rolling waves of bliss.

For an instant, you entertain the notion that Vriska could bite MUCH harder, if she chose to, just sink her teeth into your ragged meat with a crunch, and twist her head like a basset hound necking a hare. And that excites you, as you force your arms to stay loose under her, to neither crush nor shove nor flail.

She holds back, however, merely tonguing against the width of your skin under her lips, and her mouth crawls to one side of your neck. You try to slow your breathing, soak in the moment's relent, because it's possible you'd pop like an overfed pigeon with any more sudden teeth. Better to work up to it.

You're still brimming with glee that this-- she-- is really finally happening, is _really_ doing this. It grips your stomach, lungs almost catching. But Vriska's whole lithe form slides down as she realigns herself, recenters your mind as her weight moves to your midsection once more. The saddle of her thumb frames your nipple perfectly as she introduces her mouth to it, lips pursed to fulfill her promise. Then she slides a hand down, each finger passing over your belly as it splays.

But at the same moment you realize that each long caress of your breast and stomach, paired with the tongue examining every ridge and knubble of your sensitive areola, is causing you to form a thick wet spot of growing, evident need in the front of your skirt, just below the band. Thankfully you're not wearing underwear. Her hand notices both with a delicate, two-fingered stroke up from the base, pressing the fabric taut and velvety along your length. Vriska grins, a chuckle worming from her teeth against your skin, and the soft vibrations resonate, filling your chest. You let your eyes flutter closed.

From your throat the burning declamation of each breath begs for release, the pressure building as Vriska works her way upward again, over your heart and collarbone, and begins languorously bathing small sections of your neckside in kisses and little bites.

Now right under the curve of your jaw, Vriska wastes no time in marking you. The renewed gravity of her whole body quells the tremors that start to spread through your chest and arms, holding you steady, holding you together, holding you to her orbit and the thrall of her body and every touch.

You tilt your chin, pressing straining neck against her kiss, and Vriska brings a hand up-- scent-bathed in sweat mingled in a heady trail up from your own nethers-- to rub your lips, caress them for a moment, dredging a sigh from deep in your body. It then comes to rest palm-down on your cheek. Gently, she urges you to lay your head flat to the bed. You assent readily, digging your ear into the sheets, but nuzzle upward against her hand, desperate for each touch, every drug finger and the moment the next kiss lands. Your mouth finds the tip of her thumb, and you roll your tongue over it, giving it a testing nibble with pointed teeth of your own.

You curl a hand around the back of her neck, under her hair. You feel her neckmuscle, defined under thick skin, and rub into it, pleadingly pressing her mouth down. Vriska moans against your flesh, rolls her head against your touch, then she twines her fingers into yours, hands falling back down to the bedside.

Her knee insists once more that your body respect its posture between your legs. In almost obsequious reply, your thighmuscles flex and your sex twitches, aflame with desire. But in that instant, the pressure from her unrelenting ministration starts to flood your senses, and you have to dig your teeth into a lip to not push her off again.

You speak, barely above a whisper, just trying to utter words and breathe at once, a daunting task for the static-strewn euphoria filling your skull. "Nngh... that side's sensitive. Don't leave TOO huge bruises..."

Vriska, by way of responding, rakes her teeth against the spot on your neck again, lips unmoving. The same pinprick touch, myriad against what will surely be a delicate, blushing bruise, makes you barely buck your hips, to rub yourself against her urgently as you tighten the grip your legs have on hers. Your skirt has become intolerable, each brush threatening to drown your mind in overheated steam like a burst pipe.

"Vriska." A beat passes.

"Absolutely." She rears her head up, and her hand theatrically meets your chin again. She examines her handiwork-- you picture a showy blue lipstick-mark, even when she wears none-- and you turn your head in her guiding caress once more, eagerly displaying the untrammeled half of your throat.

As she cranes down to paint your body anew, you mumble a request, lips millimeters from her aural canals. "Take my skirt off."

"Hmm?" She buzzes the query into your neck, and the rush of it causes the world to blur.

"Take my skirt offfff," you insistently pant, trying to muster up enough voice to save yourself a third plea. The excitement of it would do you in, like a white dwarf star going supernova.

You feel a hooked thumb dive between poly-modal fabric and your flesh, and Vriska begins to peel your last remaining article of clothing from your legs. She bares you to the world, and in your excitement you run the whole length of your freshly-exposed member against her. So much for dignity.

It leaves a trail on her jeans, but you haven't the wherewithal to murmur an apology. Not that she would care.

"Needy girl..." she groans, taunting.

You whimper in response, a thin, querulous noise that barely escapes your throat.

Her hand passes down, deftly flicking open the buttonfly of her jeans, and she discards them with a single motion. Her leg reacquaints with yours on top of the bed, tongue rewetting her lips. Her hands arc to your breasts. Vriska's eyes, practically wild with anticipation, stare into yours, and she leans forward into you.

You feel her against your underside before it registers: slick and insistent and exactly as attentive as your own. Even through your fuck-drunk haze you have a dozen ways you crave for her to touch you, to discover your body, and you plant the back of your crown against the bed, rolling your hips up.

Time seems to stop as you sigh, closing your eyes. The muscles in Vriska's shoulders tense, and she leverages an arm underneath you, drawing you into position against the front of her bared form. Your splayed fingers drink in the heat from every pore along the blades of her back. "Ready?" she mumbles.

"Go ahead."

She locks her lips to yours again.

In her breathy, flash-hot state, Vriska begins to slide into you with ease, mouth wide and eyes closed with a tense and pressing sigh. You slide a hand to her lower back, guiding her deeper, and as her body begins to fill yours you place your other hand to one of her breasts, gripping it with rough attention.

Your legs wrap around her thighs just as she reaches the haft, hips flush against your concupiscent waist. Your moan of pleasure meets the sharp, teeth-gritted breath of the woman interlocked with you, and your legs rise and fall as she presses herself deep within your body anew.

"_Fuuuuuuuuck,_" she hisses out, eyes squeezed shut, lips barely withdrawn from yours. The hand at your breast rolls under it again, and you press against her with your next unsubtle breath, needily, dancing against the sublime pressure of her body on your own.

You roll the hand at her back across her, and shift it down your front, snaking along sweatsoaked stomachs to wrap around your shaft, as much to steady yourself as to keep pace with her. As Vriska pants for air, snatches and gasps of obscenities creeping from her lips, you roll your head back, eyes shut. "Bite meeeee." Your throat, raw from endless marks and scruffed, drawn inhalation, barely lets you utter the words. "Hard. Don't draw blood but--"

Your back arcs with each urgent, rhythmic thrust. Your thighs grip the valleys of her hips as Vriska's body plunges into your own, each motion tossing starlight pinholes into the unconscious blackness coating the planetarium of your senses. And now your whole mindscape sparkles and dances with rotating, whirling color, almost overwhelming you as you breathe, take it in, let the galactic spirals and nebulae whorl around you; you, the single point in the center of it all.

"Jade...?" Vriska's voice, heaving, sweating, singular, echoes through your joined stomachs, filling your mind with sound and vibration as thrilling as the starscape you inhabit. You almost want to mumble, beg, cajole, dogwhine your way through her coming protestations, demand that she not back down. Undignified it would be, yes, but such a small price to pay for her--

She chomps down, endless rows of pearly whites cascading just above your clavicle bone and you scream, hoarse and feral and begging and fuck, oh please, just keep-- _fuck-- and--_

The last bark-drooling entanglements of your voice draw her in, words coming up from your neck as it lies between her teeth and you press into her sweating body, and you can _feel_ every inch of her muscle and skin along you tense and quake. She grunts, and groans, pants and clenches audibly just in your ear. _God, she makes the cutest fucking noises..._ Vriska's breath almost stings at the side of your face, insistent and choking with passion. Her body is a blazing torch, but you are aflame like the core of a sun, so you wrap yourself around her without fear of being seared by her heat.

You couldn't hold yourself back now, not even if you wanted, deep geothermal clarity bursting from your core like a filling caldera of lava. But she is the sky, firmament inside which your earthquaking form lies, and she will cradle you through every tempest and eruption and tectonic heave you must endure. And you clutch her, wracked with not only her orgasm but yours in concert, until the trembling subsides into her arms, folding against your stomach and barely clutching you for support.

Vriska's cheek finds your shoulder, an area at the joint less tender than the half of your torso she'd bitten and sucked dry and bruised all over, and she buries herself in it, breath rolling like cresting, distant thunder against your neck. Would that you could just live in this blissful instant, forever.

Your hand seeks the nape of her neck, and you hold her to you, gently. Her eyes are closed, but her arms are still respectfully clasped to your sides, hands at your ribs in careful embrace. You needed this. Your body-- full, not just of Vriska's slowly detumescing length but of stardust, of clarified bodywarmth, refueled from a first gratifying turn with a new partner.

_Partner._ She's still-- 

Vriska is still atop you, inside you. Throughout every minute of this, her body has reflected back all of the admiration and electricity you needed to push into her, and yours the work and admonitions she gently pressed into you. All the help she gave you to find your footing in that mindspace and trust in her willingness to move you through it, feel it with you, pull you back out.

Minutes pass. You liberate your other hand from its nest between your twin bodies, thanking stars once again for the godpowers flooding back into your cortex with your conscious mind. From under the bed a drawer rattles open, and a clean, fresh towel, dark blue and soft and crisp, floats up into your hand. You hurl it haphazardly to the other half of the bed, pat it unfolded with a hand, and gently urge Vriska to roll into it.

She begins to do so, starting with her whole chest slumping onto your arm, and as you relax your body she gently frees herself from you with a bassy, thick _schlorp_. You can't help but laugh at the sound, hand at your stomach.

Vriska speaks, face still entombed in the towel and covers, but one eye open to gaze at your supine form. "Didn't know y'could do that w'stuff that isn't planets. S' pr'ty cool."

"S'fuckin' useful for things of all sizes," you mutter, groggily blinking up into the skylight just beginning to fill with rays of sun. "Which is good, 'cuz. Sorry 'bout yer front, it kinda gets..." You gaze down to your prone body, across your boobscape and the glistening postcoital wet triumphantly adorning your hips, waist, legs. "Everywhere."

"S'fuckin' hot," comes Vriska's slurred reply.

You pull out a second bathsheet, gently mop yourself down, and lay it adjoining Vriska's. You scoot up, roll away from her, and fit the whole curvature of your back along her side; she lumps an arm over top of you, and you wriggle it close into your chest. "Yeah. Well, if nothing else I'm the only one with a tail to clean, so I think it makes sense I get the coolest powers..."

"Sounds fair." Laboriously, Vriska brings herself snug against you, arm futilely attempting to shift your great volume of frizzed postfuck curls up so she can cuddle your behind. When that fails, her head comes to rest alongside yours, atop it, cheek to cheek; you nestle against her with a satisfied _hmm_. Her leg folds over your hip, knee bent.

"Vriska, you make me really happy..."

Despite herself, she smiles, probably a little more bashfully than she realizes. Her tongue finds her top teeth under closed lips, a telltale sign she's mulling over an unexpectedly honest thought.  
"Yeah, I know."

You giggle. Classic; of course.

"And I..." she continues, breath catching in her throat. "I'm really happy too. That was a lot of fun."

"Yeaahhh!" You nuzzle you shoulder back against her sweat-soaked chest, and Vriska takes a moment to nibble at the side of your bitemarked neck affectionately before gently kissing your cheek.

As you begin to drift into a comfortable slumber, the thought echoes.

_She's still here. She's still here._

She's still here.

**Author's Note:**

> VRISKA: Wait. If you 8ottom, does that make you a su8woofer?  
JADE: fuck youuuu!!!!! :D


End file.
